


How Easy Is That?

by this_is_not_nothing



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: A whole bunch of Fluff, David Rose Can Cook, M/M, an AU because it turns out David can cook, carbs and wine, just having dinner and being in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-20 07:56:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20224438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/this_is_not_nothing/pseuds/this_is_not_nothing
Summary: He walks over to the table, pulling everything out of the bag. “I was actually thinking I could just make us a pasta with these,” he says, gesturing with the mushrooms. “If that’s ok with you?” He didn’t mean for it to be a question.ORIt turns out David can cook.





	How Easy Is That?

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to everyone at the Rosebudd, especially @nikkaphon for the early encouragement and @thegrayness for the boost to post, but biggest thanks to @cinnaluminum because without her cheerleading and suggestions this would be a third shorter and only half as good.

David hates everything today. Patrick’s home doing the quarterly close, whatever the hell that means. He used to do it in the back room, but David’s mouth was apparently too distracting. David tried to promise he wouldn’t give Patrick blow jobs anymore while he was working on spreadsheets, but they both knew that wasn’t going to happen. So instead David has been here at the store by himself all day, unceremoniously shoved out of the apartment with not enough kisses. He checks his phone, and sees a reply from Patrick - it seems like his day isn’t going much better. He wants David to pick up dinner on the way home. If David has to talk to one more person that isn’t Patrick today, he’s going to lose his mind. 

He has a sudden pang of longing for his old apartment with the big island and those perfect Venetian wine glasses and the Japanese knives he bought on a whim. He wants to go home, open a very expensive bottle of wine, and make dinner. He hadn’t cooked often in his loft, but there had been something soothing about chopping and sautéing and sipping wine and letting his mind wander away from everything happening in his phone.

David has begun the process of closing the store, sweeping, and putting the produce back into the fridge when he notices a bunch of mushrooms that aren’t long for this world. It occurs to him that since Patrick now has a kitchen, David could actually make dinner tonight? He pauses. He hasn’t cooked since he’s been here, and he’s certainly never cooked for anyone else. He’s not even sure if he’s a good cook; there wasn't anyone in New York he would have done _ that _with. Here he lingers, probing the thought, poking it like a bruise to see if it’s healing or painful, because the idea of cooking for someone should horrify him. In New York, it was just a way to unwind by himself without anyone taking things from him, no one trying to get their hands on his body or money or pills, a way to keep the loneliness at bay. And besides, this wouldn’t be cooking for just anyone. This would solve the problem of not wanting to talk to anyone except Patrick, and it would solve the problem of throwing out these lovely mushrooms that no one seemed to appreciate, and even the problem of his mood, because there would be carbs and wine and Patrick. He rings up a bottle of nice red to drink and inexpensive white to cook with, because he knows Patrick will ask and he’s not in the mood to fight. 

He does at least manage to walk into the apartment with a huff, after being banished all day to the store alone. Patrick looks up from the laptop on the table in front of him, still wearing his serious business face for a split second before his eyes soften. David’s mouth twists, trying to hide his smile at the sight of Patrick in a button down even though he’s been home all day and Patrick’s face relaxes into a little smile. 

Patrick glances at the wine bottles. “Not really what I had in mind when I asked you to pick up dinner.”

David shoots him a look. “Then you should have been more specific.”

Patrick’s eyebrows go up. “Did we at least mark the wine off the inventory?”

“Actually, we _ paid _for the wine,” David answers smugly, and the look of astonishment on Patrick’s face is very rewarding.

He walks over to the table, pulling everything out of the bag. “I was actually thinking I could just make us a pasta with these,” he says, gesturing with the mushrooms. “If that’s ok with you?” He didn’t mean for it to be a question.

Patrick looks surprised and David panics a little, leaning down and kissing Patrick as a distraction. Patrick slides his chair out slightly and reaches up for David’s face. David gets on his lap and is annoyed at how much better he feels the instant he’s near Patrick. Patrick’s tongue slides into his mouth and David lets out an actual whimper. He still can’t believe that’s a noise he makes now, in a sincere overcome-with-wanting sort of way. 

Patrick pulls back slightly. “Works for me,” he says softly against David’s lips. His hands slide under David’s sweater as he teases, “Though I was expecting pizza.” Before David can come up with a retort, Patrick presses another kiss against his lips, and David decides to be generous and kiss him back.

Patrick leans back, looking flushed, and asks how the store was; David just groans and gets up and opens the red. 

He turns to Patrick. “Would you like a glass?”

“Not quite yet, I need about 10 more minutes. Excel crashed and I need to redo a few things.”

David nods, then starts playing Otis Redding on his phone and pours himself a very generous glass of wine. He takes a sip, then begins pulling out what he’ll need. He finds the cutting board and a sauté pan, and adds a big knob of butter before remembering that conversation with Roland today about the applesauce. He adds a little more butter and has a sip of wine. As the butter melts, he starts slicing the mushrooms, and as he chops, he feels distance forming between himself and Roland’s goddamn applesauce and every other irritating exchange of the day, the frustration receding and leaving him calm and in the moment. He had forgotten how much he likes the quiet useful feeling he gets in the kitchen. As he grabs the one acceptable wooden spoon, he feels Patrick’s arms around his waist and his lips pressing into his neck. 

“Oh, has it been 10 minutes? Is the quarter closed already?”

“You are very distracting David,” Patrick mouths against his neck. “What are you doing, why does it smell so good?” He slowly drags his tongue across the crease of David’s neck, and David shudders, pressing back into Patrick. 

“Well, honestly, it’s a lot of butter,” he manages to get out. 

“Ooh, did you have a bad day?” Patrick teases, as he bites down on David’s neck.

David shrugs against him, not wanting to admit how much he hates spending all day without Patrick.

Patrick whispers, “I missed you today,” into David’s ear.

It’s so much, and David melts into him. This is already so much nicer than cooking for just himself; there’s a Patrick now, and there will still be carbs. Patrick’s hands are sliding to his hips and he turns off the stove before allowing himself to be turned around and kissed. “I’m making dinner,” he tries to protest before Patrick’s pushing him into the counter, biting his bottom lip gently, kissing him like they haven’t seen each other in weeks not hours. David pulls back because he can’t stop smiling, pressing his forehead into Patrick’s.

Patrick settles his hands on David’s hips. “I didn’t know you could cook.” 

“Well I mean, I can’t really. It’s not a big deal. It’s just pasta.” He runs his hands up Patrick’s arms, trying not to blurt out that he his skill set is mostly confined to sad macaroni for one. “Oh shit! I need to put on the water.” 

Patrick looks at him with amused wonder and steps away. “I’ll leave you to it then.”

David finds a pot, filling it and adding the required kosher salt that he had insisted Patrick needed if he wanted to have a correct pantry last time they were at the store. Patrick had said he had salt, and David had tried to explain that _ table salt _is different and he needs kosher salt if he wants things to come out the right way. Patrick had finally relented when David snipped that he would just buy the stupid salt himself as a housewarming present. Patrick had kissed him then, a little too thoroughly for the spice aisle. 

David smiles a little as he sets the pot onto a burner, remembering how enthusiastically Patrick had pushed him up against the door when they got home. He turns on the burners for the water and the mushrooms, which start to brown as he stirs them. He’s feeling so much better about today, now that he’s home with this man and his underwhelming IKEA knives and soft lips. He sprinkles some flour into the pan and cooks it a couple of minutes longer. 

“Why’d you do that?” floats from across the room.

David’s relieved to have an answer; maybe he does know how to cook for two. “Oh, it’ll thicken up the sauce, and it’s easier than making a roux” 

David peeks over his shoulder in time to see Patrick’s eyebrows go up as he teases, “You know, when I woke up this morning I didn’t expect to find out I was the Jeffrey in our relationship.”

He bites back a smile and shrugs. Being compared to Ina Garten, before Patrick’s even had a chance to try dinner, is staggering. Patrick’s confidence in him is both unnerving and reassuring. Turning back to the stove, he counters, “Well, considering those button downs and sweaters, it was never going to be me,” as he adds a bunch of white wine to the pan. He gets that simmering and adds the pasta to the water, giving it a stir. 

The idea of cooking for Patrick for the next 50 years is suddenly overwhelming. He wants it too much to let himself think about it right now. He squeezes his eyes shut for a second and sets his phone timer. 

He turns to where Patrick’s sitting at the table and meets his waiting gaze. Crossing the space between them, he wordlessly straddles Patrick’s lap, dipping his head down for a kiss, wrapping his arms around Patrick’s neck. Patrick’s fingers come up his side and splay across his shoulders and he can’t help but smile as Patrick teases his lips open with his tongue. The kiss is just getting great, Patrick’s hands in his hair and on his ass, when the timer goes off. David pulls back, disoriented, and gets up to check the pasta. 

David hears Patrick getting wine and setting the table behind him as he uses tongs to add the pasta to the pan of mushrooms. He likes standing at the stove and having Patrick move around him, placing a hand on his shoulder as he goes by, talking about how the store is doing. After tossing in a little more butter and pepper, he sets the pan down on the table, serves them both and sits down across from Patrick.

David watches Patrick’s fork and has a sudden little jolt of anxiety that this was a mistake. It’s too comfortable and intimate. He feels like he just told Patrick some horrible secret, which is stupid, because he has no horrible secrets left. Patrick knows them all and loves him anyway. Patrick’s eyes light up with delight at the first bite. 

“David, this is really good. Like, why have we been eating at the cafe so much good.”

David looks at Patrick carefully. “It didn’t really occur to me that I could do this for us. It was a staying home alone thing for me, back in New York. And it’s not like the motel has a kitchen.” 

“I’m sure Ray would have been happy to share his,” Patrick grins. 

David relaxes and twirls himself a forkful of linguini. “You really like it?” 

Patrick reaches his hand out for David’s. “I like it so much,” he says, in that slow voice that makes David’s heart race. 

David can’t even try to hide his smile, so he just pops a forkful of pasta into his mouth. Of course Patrick knows exactly what to say. He’s getting used to someone who doesn’t let him down. 

While Patrick cleans up the kitchen, David sits at the table and watches, finally relaxed enough to turn all his complaints from today into funny anecdotes to share. He knew cooking would help him unwind, but he wasn’t expecting to be so fucking content. This part is new. 

_ That’s How Strong My Love Is _begins to play and David stands up. At the sound of the chair moving, Patrick glances back, shuts off the water, and sets down the sponge. David pulls his sweater off and sets it on the chair. Patrick would be careful, drying his hands, but David doesn’t want to wait for careful. All day without Patrick was too many hours, and now he just wants those steady hands everywhere Patrick wants to put them. 

He walks over to Patrick, sliding his arms around his waist and tucking his face into his neck, settling soft kisses and little bites up to his ear. David turns him around, putting his arms up around his neck. Patrick’s warm, damp hands slide under his t-shirt as he sways them slowly into a kiss. Patrick runs his hands into David’s waistband, deepening the kiss and David hums with happiness. He needs Patrick to know, so he pulls back. 

He opens his eyes, “I love - this. I love you. So much.”

Patrick’s eyes go wide and soft, and David knows he's not going to make a joke about tea this time. “Me too. I love you.” 

Patrick pulls him back in for more kisses, his mouth on David’s soft but insistent, his fingers gripping into David’s back, swaying them to “_ Any kind of love you want, I'll be with you _.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at this-is-not-nothing


End file.
